


Lonely

by freetheelves2



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-22
Updated: 2007-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetheelves2/pseuds/freetheelves2
Summary: "I don't want to be alone forever. That's what this existence is, isn't it?"





	

It takes them three days to rescue Claire. Three days because, well… Peter hasn't run into anyone with super-speed, and it's a three-day drive from New York to California.

Adam suggested flying. Peter explained that it was just too long of a stretch, and he hadn't run into anyone with inexhaustible stamina.

"You're pretty useless, friend," Adam had told him quite frankly one day, and Peter had shrugged, handing him his burger.

"Why are we going to rescue a 16-year-old girl again?"

"Because," Peter had said, starting the engine, "she's not like that."

"They always say that. And then they always are. Just because her dad blew the whistle, doesn't mean—"

"He saved my life. I sort of owe him something. That and, well, Claire's still my niece."

"So?"

"So? So?? Four-hundred years have left you bitter, huh, is that it? Whatever business Claire's involved in, I'm involved in."

Adam had shrugged, playing with his straw. "People kept dying on me, man! You just can't trust that! On another hand, I love how overprotective all these people are of a 16-year-old girl… while me, I get stabbed, poked, prodded at, experimented on, quartered…"

"Yeah, I get it. Life sucks. Doesn't mean we're not getting Claire out of California."

That was somewhere in Ohio. 

Now they've been in California for a good three hours, and—

Peter's cell phone rings. Finally.

"Don't let anyone know you're here," Noah Bennet instructs. "You'll find Claire somewhere within a one-mile radius of Jones Café. I don't even know where she is myself."

"Great," Peter says, snapping the cell phone closed.

***

They search for a good hour before they find her, sitting on an abandoned swing in an elementary school playground.

Just sitting. 

Peter doesn't say anything and Claire just gets into the car without a word, but he can still tell that her cheeks are wet with tears that won't go away, her eyes red and blood-shot. 

When she talks, maybe half an hour or so later, her voice is still cracked. "Where are we going?"

"I'm afraid we're not qualified to give out that information," Adam says, smug bastard face on perfectly. 

"Peter?" she asks, annoyance clear in her voice.

That's when Adam turns around to look past the seat and grin at her. "Vegas, baby."

She decides from the very beginning that she won't like him.

He reminds her of the fact every ten minutes or so from that point on, and Claire realizes that the less she says, the less sarcastic, smartass remarks he can deliver back into her face.

***

When they arrive in Vegas and it's Adam's turn to gas up the car before they head off to their hotel, Claire can't help but ask Peter about him.

"Why is he even here? Who is he?"

Peter realizes that telling Claire that Adam was someone who he wanted to save the world with would be… well. 

He was supposed to be the older one here. 

"Let's just say he's a friend and leave it at that, okay? He's been a great help and… I owe him."

"You owe him?"

"Sort of. He's a bit… complicated."

That's where the conversation ends when Adam gets back into the car, lucky Peter.

"Where are we staying?"

"Well," Adam says, flashing her a grin, "our friend here seems to have acquired the ability of turning anything into pure gold. We're staying at the MGM, sweetheart."

She rolls her eyes. 

He catches that.

***

Given that most hotels will not accept pure gold as form of payment, Claire figures that Peter got himself a whole lot of money from a whole lot of gold long before Costa Verde.

She doesn't mention it. 

The Marquee Suite that Peter got them is, in one word, perfect. It has two bathrooms, two bedrooms both with King-size beds, and a luxuriously ostentatious living area in between, furnished completely with kitchenette and living room.

"Impressive. Not as impressive as, say, the suite of—"

His attitude is getting to her, and she cuts him off. "Was this your idea? Don't you think it's a little stupid for us to be checked into something like this when we're on the run? Undercover?"

Peter doesn't actually answer, merely continuing to unpack. 

Adam, however, is more than happy to oblige, getting up from his lounging position on the couch to grin at her. "Think about it, sweetheart. The company thinks you're either with your family, or running. People who run don't usually stay at the MGM Grand. They stay at seedy motels, and we all know what happens at those."

Another leering grin. He's too close, and, yes, she _gets_ it.

***

Later, in the shower, Claire cuts herself shaving. Of course it heals – she was expecting that much.

She wasn't, however, expected to start crying over it until Adam knocks on the door to ask her if she intends to use up the entire water supply the MGM has to offer. 

Putting on a bathrobe, she doesn't say anything for a good fifteen minutes, before Peter asks her what's wrong. She doesn't answer him until Adam is in the shower himself

"I'm not human, that's what's wrong! Who can do this? This isn't normal! I _want_ to be able to cut myself shaving and see the blood running down my face while I have to pay for the mistake, letting it sting and burn for at least a _couple of minutes_!"

"I know what it's like Claire. I mean, I'm like you—"

That makes her explode, finally. 

"NO! You're _not_ like me and you've never been! You're not like anyone! You're disgustingly unique while, at the same time, you're _exactly like everyone else_. Nothing about you is original! You're the spitting image of every person you've ever met rolled into one. Especially my father!"

She spits those last words out like venom. That, she thinks, is the part that really gets to Peter. 

"You can't understand how I feel because you're not stuck with this… because you were born with it. You're stuck with it because you met _me_. Fancy that, I'm just another burden to you. Something you can add to your list – or, better, something I can add to my list for why I should feel guilty over the fact that you can't seem to stop giving and caring for people like it's some sort of sickness."

They don't talk the rest of the night, and yet when Adam asks about sleeping arrangements, leaving the idea of two grown men sharing a bed – when there is a distinctively short girl in the room as well – out of the question, Claire refuses to sleep in the same bed with anyone but Peter. 

One hatred over another.

"I'm sorry," Peter says that night, and she shakes her head. 

"It's just resentment."

***

The shopping is extensive, the dining is everything from fine to fine-casual and still exquisite, the spa serves to relax even Claire, and there's even evening entertainment.

That night, after a few drinks Peter bought her in his name, she's much less restrained from using her tongue. 

"I still don't know your name," she tells Adam, matter-of-factly. 

"I've gone by a lot of names. Which one would you care for?"

She makes a face. "How about the one you identify with the most closely?"

He seems to consider this for a moment before seemingly making up his mind. "I guess you can call me Adam."

"It's… not entirely unpleasant to meet you, Adam," she says, clinking her glass against his, still on the table. 

"Did you bring that uniform of yours?"

"I take it back. It _is_ entirely unpleasant."

She puts it on anyway, and Adam surprises himself when it makes him smile.

"Are you sure you want to keep sleeping with Peter?"

"That is… a badly phrased sentence."

"No, I'm serious. I slept with Peter on the entire trip to sunny California. Now I just have to get you in my bed and we can finish the love triangle."

He actually laughs when she throws her uniform at him while changing from behind the door.

***

He's a bit like a mystery she can't seem to really touch, and it's what triggers… it… in her mind.

Or maybe it's just… what she's blaming. 

It's just; he was good-looking from day one. He was also a bit of a bastard. 

Maybe she goes for bastard. There's no way to be quite sure. 

Really, she doesn't even know how old he is. It could all end… terribly. But her dreams never shied away from presenting her with her worst nightmare. With a rose-colored lens for her to see it through. 

Maybe it's all the subtle flirting that she didn't even notice before.

It's what prompts her to actually ask—

"How old are you?"

"What would it matter to you if I told you?" he asks with a curious smile over the orange he's cutting the peel off of.

"Well, I just think that you've been…"

"Friendly?" He grins, and it makes her feel just about twelve. That's not helping the whole _legal_ thing. "Sweetheart, you're a pretty blonde cheerleader. Who wouldn't be friendly? But trust me. My age has no matter in this, as nothing is going to happen anyway."

She's almost disappointed until he slips and cuts himself with the knife and she watches it heal right in front of her eyes.

"What—"

"Fancy, isn't it? Also makes me a little difficult to kill."

When Claire's expression doesn't change from the sheer look of shock and terror that's written all over it, Adam cocks an eyebrow. "What?"

It's then that she grabs the knife out of his hand. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours??" she practically demands, cutting down the side of her arm. It stings, then it's gone, and she blinks before looking back up at him.

He's silent, just staring. In complete shock.

She couldn't have gotten him to react this way if she had slapped him.

Then—

"You're cursed."

"What are you talking about."

"I'm four-hundred years old, Claire."

***

It takes a bit, but she learns quickly.

Then Adam suddenly becomes a wellspring of information, and she wants to forget about Peter entirely, wants to forget that he's the same way, because this is something both of _them_ have in common. 

"So… you're ability manifested and… that same year you just…"

"Stopped aging. Yes."

It's all good though, because it seems that he is about as fascinated with having found her as she is with having found him. 

An oasis to each other in a world of desert.

"So… I'm stuck being sixteen… forever?"

"Seems that way… and the lecherous, pedophilic old man in me loves that."

He's smirking at her. It's a challenge. 

"This… is not pedophilia. It… wouldn't be pedophilia in a few years—"

"You'd still look exactly as you do now."

"There's no difference except for… age."

Another smirk. "You're right, Claire. There might as well not be a difference. You could be three-hundred-twenty-six and you wouldn't look any different. Beautiful concept, really."

It's when she considers how old he is – four-hundred years – that she realizes that his jokes make sense. He probably _has_ seen a much better room than this one several times over. He's seen bigger, better battles with more deaths. He's seen more deaths than—

She'll never die. 

"My dad was… constantly trying to move us to… keep me safe. I was upset because I wanted to keep the friends I had made, and… here I'm confronted with the idea that I'll watch all my friends and loved ones die while I just keep going on."

It's when she realizes he's right.

"I'm cursed."

Then—

"I don't want to be alone forever. That's what this existence is, isn't it?"

 _Lonely_.

There isn't a lot that can get at Adam, it seems. After having lived through four-hundred years of existence, of history, there isn't a lot that will faze a person. 

Claire gets that. 

But it seems that she has struck a chord with that – that sentiment of loneliness and her innocence and fear of that – and that he can't run away from that with sarcasm and smart-assery. 

He tries anyway.

"Just think, you can spend the rest of eternity sharing a bed in the MGM with Peter."

"He's my uncle. And he's not—"

"Like you. Trust me, I heard the shouting yesterday."

She doesn't say anything. She's actually almost embarrassed. 

"I am," he says, surprising her yet again.

Then he kisses her. 

It's sweet and unexpected and he tastes like oranges, and the fingers that come up to cradle her face and run into her hair smell like oranges, and it's a little overwhelming for her senses.

She doesn't care.

She has an eternity to get over it. 

Or get used to it.

Whichever happens first. 

"You do realize," she says against his lips, a little breathlessly, "that you're stuck with me now. For eternity. I mean… there really is no death-do-us-part here."

"I'm a reckless sort of guy, what can I say."

"I've gathered that."

"Every person," he says, pulling away again, "that I've run into… who might have had this ability… I've killed them. Survival of the fittest. I wanted to be the only one. If it's not unique, I have competition, and suddenly I'm not special. Of course, now, with Peter around, no one is. Thing is, though – all those people I killed were men, nameless faces who I expected never to see again because they'd end up in hell, a place I'd never end up in. And I'm no saint, Claire. It was just… never someone that I actually had a connection with."

"Although I'm sure," she says with a smile, "that the… sixteen, blonde, pretty, and cheerleader sure help out."

"Oh, definitely," he says, and kisses her again.

***

Somehow they made it to the bedroom. The other bedroom – his bedroom – because Peter could come back at any moment, really.

It's best if there aren't any questions tonight, because they're on fire. The most special because they single one ability out above all others. 

The most special, together.

Because, really, that's the point, right? The point of him picking her up by the waist, her legs wrapping around his, slamming her against the wall – as violent as they want; their own bodies won't stop them, certainly – the point of kissing her hard enough to bruise her and then _not_ , the point of her doing the same, the point of them hardly making it through the door, until he whispers—

"I told you it was only a matter of time before you'd end up in my bed,"

—which earns him a slap that he enjoys too much, in Claire's opinion, but that doesn't matter either, because at that point they've made it to the bed, and she's trying her hardest to get those damn buttons off him. 

"You know what's wrong with Peter?" Adam asks a little breathlessly against her skin as she fumbles with the buttons and he fumbles with her bra-clasp.

She shakes her head a little frantically.

"He's too good. He wouldn't get to do any of this – telekinesis would take care of that, wouldn't it? Anything anyone can do, he can do better. It gets boring. Much better to be… painfully unique."

He accentuates the words by tearing her bra off her. 

"Right, I didn't need that anymore, thanks."

"They have stores here. And we have Peter," he says, grinning at her. 

She can't help but grin back. 

"This is something the most special person in the world doesn't get," Claire whispers almost wickedly as she runs her fingernails down his chest until she reaches the dress-slacks. "You're so refined."

"I've had years of practice," he says, scrambling to sit up on his knees. 

The idea here was to make it easier for her to take the pants off. 

Step two was unexpected, the part where she pulls the boxers down with the pants and takes him into her mouth completely. 

He groans out loud, grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

She doesn't complain. When a reaction like that is elicited from a four-hundred-year-old man, you really shouldn't. 

Really, she knows only vaguely what she's doing. She's only done this on one person before now – West – and he was definitely not as well-equipped as Adam, no offense to West. They look different, too. 

That doesn't stop her, paying special attention to the underside and the head. 

_The most sensitive part,_ she remembers West whimpering as she tested out this statement of his. 

It works until she feels herself being pushed away until she falls back onto the bed. 

"Did I—"

"Oh no, that was fantastic. That's why you had to stop," he says in that brilliant accent of his, and she grins. 

If the treatment was unexpected for him, Claire is amazed when he just tugs down her jeans and her panties and starts to kiss up her thighs. 

She went for the gold. 

He goes for torture.

It's slow and arduous and sensuous, and at one point Claire realizes very distinctly that she wants to tear out his hair – she's close – if he doesn't get to the point already. 

One, two more arduously slow licks, and then he actually let's a finger slip inside of her, his tongue running around her clitoris. 

It's making her go a little mad, making note again of the fact that the man has had four-hundred years of practice. 

Not entirely fair. 

But she doesn't think about that when she comes, clawing at his hair so she can kiss him again. 

"You're going to keep losing your virginity, aren't you? Over and over and over again…"

"It's a good thing the pain isn't so bad when we feel it, am I right?"

He ignores that one. "Nice that you'll always be just like a virgin… horrible because I have no idea what you've done before now."

Claire grins like a tiger and wraps her legs around his waist. "Try me."

He does.

He enters her fast, and it hurts, but only briefly. She's experienced worse, making this more of… a walk in the park. 

Doesn't deserve any noise.

But, oh, when he starts moving… _that_ deserves noise. 

They're both moaning, actually, when she bucks up against him, arching her back as he keeps pushing inside of her and pulling out almost far enough to slip out again—

It's an intoxicating rhythm they seem to find and grasp onto. Frantic, like they're fucking for their lives. 

Ironic. 

His hand fumbles between their bodies and makes her cry out—

When she comes for the second time underneath him, it draws his own orgasm from him. 

They stay very still for a very long time after the fact. 

"It's like… the thing we have that's closest to actually dying."

He grins. "Let's do it a lot."

***

Peter finds out and understands.

They don't care either way, and running becomes a game to them, hotel hopping from one luxurious palace to the next. 

Adam shows Claire what it's like to see the world and experience life, Claire shows Adam what it's like to not be lonely, and Peter pays for them. 

It's, in one word, perfect.


End file.
